A place where I become even more self involved.          
       
        
“Dead girl walking." The boys say in the halls.
“Tell us your secret.” The girls whisper.     
I am the space between my thighs, daylight shining through.
I am the library aide who hides in fantasy.                                           
I am the circus freak encased in beeswax.                                         
I am the bones they want, wired on a porcelain frame.